


im only a fool for you

by bpdcerberus



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol, Canon typical drug use, Cheating, Drugs, Infidelity, K is shitty in this, M/M, Multi, Overdose, Past Character Death, Pills, Shit Boyfriends, Suicide, high, mental breakdowns, multiple character death, really shitty, slight noncon? jiang tips the end of prokos cup up when he drinks, substance parties, succesful suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bpdcerberus/pseuds/bpdcerberus
Summary: Now, there was only this: seeing Kavinsky, walking towards Kavinsky, kissing Kavinsky. Kavinsky pushing him away. Prokopenko’s heart was doused in gasoline and Kavinsky was holding a single match.Proko’s eyes begged, ‘Strike it, Joey,’ but Kavinsky did not.





	1. Chapter 1

_ ‘Cause I’m so fucking scared.. _

_ I’m only a fool for you _

_ But maybe you’re too good for me _

_ I’m only a fool for you... _

_ But I don’t fucking care at all... _

  
  


The night was alive and breathing. Proko could feel it with every beat of the music and with every beat of his heart. The bonfire starting up in the middle of the abandoned fairgrounds was licking out between logs. Proko felt electric-charged, balling and unballing his hands. He could feel maniacal energy coursing through him, unable to be patient.

 

He walked over to the bonfire where Skov and Jiang stood, already grasping red solo cups topped off with odd-colored alcohol. 

 

“When are people gonna start showing up?” Proko asked, looking out towards the little road. It was the only connection the fairground party had with civilization. The road was a backroad off a backroad off a smaller road off the highway, and people usually got lost on their way there.

 

About half the Aglionby seniors and juniors usually attended Kavinsky’s shindigs along with a large portion of Mountain View High, the underfunded public school in Henrietta. At least half of the entire sophomore through senior years of Mountain View attended the substance parties on a regular basis.  Kavinsky’s parties were always a platform for drug dealing and organized crime. Last year, Proko heard some kid from Mountain View was hiring himself out as a hitman. The year before that, Proko heard that a group of students from both Mountain View and Aglionby were fixing to rob some bank in Richmond. They’d watched the news for some months after that to see if it happened, but there was nothing in the media. The year before  _ that,  _ Kavinsky had showed up in Henrietta bringing rumours in his wake that he had killed his father. From what Proko heard from K on breakdowns in bad trips, Mr. Kavinsky had deserved whatever he got.

 

“Prokopenko, my man!” Skov threw his arm over Proko’s uneven shoulders, shoving his red solo cup into Proko’s hands. “What’s the fucking  _ haps _ man?” 

 

Proko laughed. “Who says that anymore?”

 

“I do, dickhead!” Skov said, jokingly indignant. “What’re you planning on tonight, P? Drop some shit then fuck?” The shorter boy cackled as Proko’s ears pinkened. 

 

“I dunno. I just wanna be out of my mind, y'know?” Proko took a long drink from the solo cup, savoring the burn in his throat and the buzz just behind his eyes. He coughed a little bit. “This stuff smells disgusting, what is this?”

 

“One of my very own.” Jiang said, gaze even and seemingly impenetrable. 

 

“Oh, joy. What’s in it?” Proko laughed, taking another drink.

 

Jiang pushed the end of Proko’s cup upwards and said nothing else.

 

“Alcohol. Drugs, probably.” Skov guessed, snatching Prokopenko’s hat and putting it on his own head. 

 

Proko emptied the cup in a few more gulps and handed it back to Skov who blinked at him for a sec. “Damn, P, did you just drink this whole thing? Man, you’re gonna be fucked up before we even start the fun!” Skov said, a note of admiration in his voice.

 

“That’s the goal. I’m gonna get fucked up and do fucked up shit and pray I don’t remember it in the morning.” Proko said, a grin creeping onto his own lips. “Christ, this stuff is strong.” His vision was already swimming at the edges and his face felt like it was vibrating. 

 

Skov laughed again. “Fuck yeah, man!”

 

“I’m gonna go find K,” Proko said, shrugging Skov’s arm off his shoulders. “See you, assholes.” Proko bumped fists with Skov before turning to stumble off into the darkness towards the Mitsubishi. Kavinsky was leaning on the hood, smoking something very obviously hand-rolled and looking pensive.

 

“You look really fucking edgy, Kav.” Proko chuckled, leaning on the Mitsu next to Kavinsky.

 

“Fuck you.” There was more heat in his words than Proko expected. Prokopenko’s grin fell. 

 

In lieu of speaking, Proko shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. They looked ripped and fucked up in only the way designer-made distressed jeans could. He listened to Kavinsky’s slow, long breaths and his own heartbeat in his lopsided ears. They sat that way for a few minutes, silent, Prokopenko listening to Kavinsky and Kavinsky seemingly paying no attention to Prokopenko at all. That was how it usually was, though, so Prokopenko didn’t mind. Kavinsky finished his joint, flicking it at the ground and stomping out the embers. Usually when they did this, Kavinsky at least silently offered Proko a drag off whatever he was smoking, whether it be a joint or a cigarette. This time, though, he didn’t. Proko wasn’t sure why that stung so badly.

 

He swallowed, running over the past week in his head. Had he done something wrong? Had he said something Kavinsky didn’t like? Prokopenko’s heart pounded and his already alcohol-dizzy sight seemed to waver. What if he hadn’t done _anything_ , he just wasn’t _enough_ anymore? The thought weighed heavy on him. He moved his gaze from his shoes to glance at Kavinsky, just to get an idea of what he was feeling, maybe. But as he raised his gaze, his heart stopped for a split second.

 

Kavinsky was already looking at him, gaze level. How long had K been watching him?

 

Proko met K’s eyes with some hesitance. There was a question in Prokos eyes -  _ what did I do, what did i not do, am i not enough anymore, please, K, please don’t go _ \- and no answer to it in Kavinsky’s.   After a moment of looking at eachother, Proko realized it was just a game of chicken. There was no meaning in the look. Kavinsky was not  _ watching _ him. Kavinsky was testing him. At this realization, Proko kept his gaze even on K’s.  _ ‘I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not scared.’ _ Proko thought, over and over, hoping the message was translated through his eyes. The question was, though, if Proko was telling Kavinsky or trying to convince himself. 

 

Something shifted in Kavinsky’s face. An upward quirk to one of his eyebrows, a downward twitch of his lips. Proko looked away then, putting his eyes downward again. Kavinsky made a sound that sounded like a half-assed scoff. He stood up off the car, putting a hand in his pocket and walking towards the bonfire. Proko raised his eyes again to watch him go, his silhouette disappearing into the haze of the bonfire. Once Kavinsky was out of sight, tears instantly welled in Prokopenko’s eyes. Now, he was sure that he wasn’t enough. Kavinsky was swaggering away to find some other pathetic boy to take in as his. Tears spilled down his pale, freckled cheeks. Disgusted with himself, Proko wiped his cheeks dry, but more tears just replaced the ones he wiped away. It seemed like an endless flow. Every tear he had ever held back in all his life was surfacing now, spilling down his cheeks, shaking his shoulders and making his hands tremble.

 

“Proko? ‘Sat you?”

 

Proko startled, turning towards the voice. Swan was walking towards him, face drawn up in concern. The blonde boy hurriedly wiped his face, trying to hide the tears on his face and spilling from his eyes.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong man?” Swan had reached him now, placing a gentle hand on Prokopenko’s shoulder. 

 

“Nothing, it’s fine. I downed a whole cup of Jiang’s shit. I’m fine. Really.” Proko took a short, shuddery breath. “It’s probably just the alcohol.”

 

Swan gave him a look. “And why did you down a whole cup of Jiang’s shit?”

 

“I just wanted to get fucked up, I had too much energy and I just.. Did. And Jiang pushed up the end of my cup so I kinda had to or choke on it.” 

 

Swan scoffed. “‘Course he did. Why’d he do that?”

 

“I don’t know man, he’s Jiang.” Proko replied, throwing his hands up in weak exasperation.

 

The taller boy moved his hand from Proko’s shoulder, letting both of them hang at his sides. He moved to lean on the car right next to Proko, their forearms touching slightly. They were both quiet for a moment.

 

“Is it really just the alcohol? You can tell me, P. I won’t tell K if you don’t want me to.” Swan’s voice sounded softened like he’d taken a nail file and rounded off his usually knife-sharp corners.

 

Proko looked in the direction K had disappeared in. He didn’t say anything.

 

“What?” Swan followed his line of sight. Some kind of realization set in on his features before being replaced by anger. “What’d he do?”

 

“Nothing.” Proko muttered, looking down.

 

“Proko, what did he  _ do _ ?” Swan put a hand on Proko’s shoulder to turn him so they were face-to-face.

 

“Nothing!” Prokopenko said again, more exasperated-sounding this time. He pushed Swan's hand off his arm. “That’s just it! Usually when he’s mad he at least gives me a drag off his joint, but he didn't!” His floodgates seemed to open then, tears free-flowing and words everpresent. “I didn't look at him the whole time, then I looked up and he was just.. He was looking at me and he looked… fuck, Swan, I don’t know.”

 

“What? What’d he look like?” Swan asked, voice soft again.

 

“He looked  _ disgusted _ . Like he regrets me. Like I should have stayed dead.” Proko’s voice was quiet. He dropped his face into his hands. “Like I’m nothing.”

 

“Proko.. That’s not true. You’re not nothing.” Swan ran a hand through Prokopenko’s hair, trying to comfort him. 

 

“I’m nothing to  _ him _ .” Proko gestured weakly in the direction K had gone. 

 

“Proko, that’s..” Swan trailed off. 

  
Proko swallowed. “You know you can’t confidently tell me that’s not true. You don’t know if it’s not true.” He accused, too much heat in his voice and too much ice in his stomach.

 

Swan nodded. “I don’t. I don’t want to accidentally lie to you either.” He said, voice even and calm. “But you aren’t nothing. He might think you are, maybe  _ you _ think you are, but you’re not nothing. You're more than just a dream.” 

 

Headlights flashed in between the trees in the distance. Swan and Prokopenko heard Skov cheer, whooping loudly and throwing something in the fire. About 5 cars had shown up, parking near the entrance and spilling teenagers from them. Proko spared another glance at Swan before making his way back over to Skov and Jiang. Skov handed him some pills, not bothering to specify what they were. Proko put them in his pocket. “What were you and Swan talking about? It looked serious.” Skov asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Nothing, nothing, he was just getting on me cause I’ve already drank a whole glass of.. Whatever that was.” He gestured to the empty solo cup Skov had thrown into the fire that was currently melting onto the concrete in a bout of flame.

 

Skov nodded. “You’re sure?” 

 

“I’m sure.” Proko flashed a smile. “It’s all good. C’mon, wanna go greet the newcomers?”

 

A grin flashed onto Skov’s thin lips. “ _ Fuck _ yeah.” 

 

The two walked towards the cars that had pulled into the party. 

 

“Skov! My man!” A taller boy yelled. His hair was closer-cropped, not quite a buzz cut.

 

Skov bumped fists with the guy. “Morris! My maaan!” Skov dragged out the ‘aaa’ sound for a few seconds. “How’s New Haven treating you? You got a new chick yet?”   
  


Proko lost interest in the conversation once the topic of girls came up. Morris was straight, and Skov was bi. Prokopenko never got their attraction to chicks. They weren’t hot at all, in his opinion. Pretty, maybe, but not bangable. Kavinsky always told him that Proko probably didn't like chicks because he liked  _ being _ fucked, not fucking someone. 

 

Prokopenko was suddenly aware of the inky, scrawling ‘K’ on his neck, just below and a bit behind his ear. Kavinsky's voice spoke in his mind.

 

‘Or maybe,’ the ghost of a voice murmured. ‘You just like getting fucked by  _ me. _ ’

 

Prokopenko’s stomach turned uncomfortably. The blonde clenched his jaw and smiled when Morris greeted him. Tonight was going to be hell.

 

 

 

More and more faceless, nameless people began to arrive. By the time there was a thin layer of teens spread out over the dim-lit concrete, Prokopenko’s vision was swimming and his steps were stumbling. He couldn't remember how many pills he took out of the ones Skov had given him. He couldn’t remember how many he’d been given in the first place.

 

Now, there was only this: seeing Kavinsky, walking towards Kavinsky, kissing Kavinsky. Kavinsky pushing him away. Prokopenko’s heart was doused in gasoline and Kavinsky was holding a single match.  Proko’s eyes begged,  _ ‘Strike it, Joey,’ _ but Kavinsky did not.  Prokopenko tried to kiss K again, but his lips met a pill instead. It was placed on his tongue, and he could taste the bloody grime of a fight on Kavinsky’s fingertips. Now that his mind knew ‘ _ fight _ ’, he saw it- the blood running from Kavinsky’s nose onto his lips. A smudged place on his upper lip where Prokopenko’s lips had taken some of the blood away. A still-forming bruise on his cheekbone. Finger-shaped bruises on his upper arm.

 

Proko swallowed the pill.

 

He feebly tried once more to kiss Kavinsky, but he was, again, stopped. His alcohol and drug-sluggish brain couldn’t even be hurt. The gasoline seemed to melt away from Prokopenko’s heart, pooling in his stomach. Kavinsky was gone now, walking back towards the flaming bonfire. Prokopenko’s vision was hazy and swimming. Whatever he’d been fed by Kavinsky was fast-acting: dreamt, he guessed.

 

Someone taller joined Kavinsky by the bonfire. Always towards the fire, always away from Proko.  All Prokopenko could see were silhouettes against the flame. Sunglasses, slicked back hair, snapback, tanktop- that was Kavinsky. This person was short hair, toned arm muscles, tanktop, ripped jeans. The stranger accepted a beer he was offered by Kavinsky. They were standing close. Very close. They seemed to move closer, K’s hand moving towards the stranger-

 

That was when Proko stumbled away into the darkness in desperate search of Swan. His vision was swimming with alcohol and drugs and tears. Prokopenko wanted to scream  _ ‘I was right, I was right, I am nothing to him, he found someone else, I was right,’ _ but then, his vision went dark and his legs gave out. 

 

He felt cold, damp concrete under his cheek.

 

A falling sensation.

 

Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

  _'Cause I have hella feelings for you,_

_I act like I don't fucking care,_

_Like they ain't even there,_

_'Cause I have hella feelings for you,_

_I act like I don't fucking care,_

_'Cause I'm so fucking scared_

 

Prokopenko’s eyes blinked open. He woke up on the couch in the living room, laying on his side. He sat up before grimacing, the headache hitting him then. It was a sharp pain and cause Proko to hiss an expletive softly under his breath. He looked at the coffee table. A bottle of aspirin, a bottle of water, a sandwich in a plastic bag, and a note sat there. Proko picked up the note first.

 

_‘You passed out last night, eat some food and make sure to drink at least half the water, don't take more than 4 aspirin in 6 hours. And sleep, sleep is important. Me and Skov went out. Jiang’s upstairs, probably._

_-Swan’_

 

The bleach-blonde grabbed the water bottle, taking a few hesitant sips before downing two aspirin and sipping more water. He tried to remember any details about last night, but as far as he could remember was when people showing up to the party. He knew he’d taken some new pill K had dreamt, but the memory was a hazy one mostly focusing on Kavinsky’s bloody nose.

 

 _‘Kav,’_ he thought, realizing the note didn’t mention Kavinsky at all. Thoughts of all the terrible things that could have happened filled Proko’s mind - but, no. If Kavinsky was dead, Proko would be too.

 

Kavinsky had worked out that Ronan Lynch’s mother must have been a dream. He knew Ronan was a dreamer, so he speculated that perhaps Niall Lynch had been too. Kavinsky had had no doubt that if he was, the dream business killed him. Magical artifacts dealers were not kind people, and Kavinsky knew that. He _was_ one. Yes, Kavinsky was a drug dealer, but those drugs were not regular. They were K’s own creations, taken straight from his head. Since Aurora had likely been Niall’s dream and she went into a coma after he died, Kavinsky figured the same out happen to Prokopenko if _he_ died.

 

There would be no way to know if they were right before it happened.

 

Once he had rationalized his mind into believing K was probably alive, Prokopenko’s mind moved on to worse - _abandonment_. The idea shoved a cold knife through Proko’s gut and he could feel a tiny inkling of panic creep in. What if Kavinsky saw him pass out, thought he wasn’t good enough and just... _left?_

 

Proko’s mind raced and wheeled like a runaway cart. Proko recalled seeing K talking to someone soon before he passed out, but.. Who? He tried to focus on the silhouette in his mind’s eye, but it was so blurry and hazy and the heat of the bonfire had distorted the backlit figure. Whoever it was, they were tall compared to Kavinsky.

 

 _‘Stupid,’_ Proko scolded himself. It was probably just another drug deal. It’s no big deal. _‘You need to trust him more.’_

  
Although he made himself think it, he knew he would never. Not after… Proko shook his head. ' _Stop thinking about that.’_ He hated thinking about dying. If he thought about it for too long, he knew he would start hallucinating, and then _everything_ would go to shit. Still, tears tried to creep up into Prokopenko’s icy blue-green eyes. He took a deep breath to try to dispel them. K brought him back afterward, so it was okay. He fixed it.

Prokopenko was over-conscious of the silence in the room. As anxiety wormed at Proko’s insides - did dream things _have_ insides? - he made his way to and up the giant staircase, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Proko wobbled a bit, having to grab the handrail to keep himself from falling back down the stairs.

 

“Jiang?” Proko called, coming to the top of the stairs. The other’s door opened a few moments later.

  
“Proko. You okay?” He asked, looking slightly worried.

  
Prokopenko nodded in a wordless lie. “Just making sure you were here, I guess.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, but he didn’t feel like he had the energy to clear it out. He looked down, fiddling with a string hanging from a rip on the leg of his jeans.

 

Neither of them spoke for a silent moment. It felt like a year.

 

“You’re worried about K.” Jiang said. There was no question in his voice. Proko looked back up at him, not saying anything for another moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. Proko shrugged his uneven shoulders instead, eyes drifting back down the the fiber hanging from his jeans. The silent treatment, being pushed away and K with the stranger last night all still stung at Proko’s heart.

 

Jiang’s shoulder seemed to sag a little. From what, Proko didn’t know. The burden of taking care of him? Pity? Bad news?

 

All three?

 

Jiang walked out of his room, towards Proko. “P, he’s not dead or anything. He’s fine.”

 

“I know.” Proko’s voice cracked. He hated it. He felt like crying.

 

Jiang nodded. After another silent moment, he opened his arms to Proko, offering a rare hug. Proko hesitated for a moment before taking the offer. They embraced for a moment. Proko felt like a wave was hitting him from the inside, each time threatening to break the dam that was his tear ducts.

 

If  _Jiang_ was offering a hug, something _must_ have happened.

 

As they released, Proko turned to go back downstairs. “Thanks.” He managed, grabbing the handrail. He made his way down back into the living room. Proko’s stomach growled like an angry dragon, clawing him from the inside. He grabbed the sandwich out of the bag, taking a bite. He stood for a moment, turning his gaze around the room. As he chewed, he wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, gross. You know I don’t like mustard.” Proko grumbled, cursing Swan quietly. He walked into the kitchen to throw away the remains of his sandwich. He opened the trash can, threw his sandwich into it and made to make another. Prokopenko turned to get the bread from the top of the fridge-

All at once a wave of panic hit him directly in the chest. It was so intense he could feel his heart speeding up. He swallowed dryly. Prokopenko felt like his world was crashing down around him like a house of cards on a windy day. He felt his stomach turn to ice and his lungs constrict. His gasoline heart shriveled. Proko felt a sort of helpless panic fill his chest, sneaking into every cavity like an invisible disease eating him from the inside. He felt like he should have known.

 

He really should have known.

 

There, up against the counter stood Kavinsky, pressed flush with Ronan Lynch, lips locked in what looked like some kind of battle.

 

Proko felt sick.

 

He should have _known_.

  
  
  



End file.
